With the last trog dying, a gargling in her throat, it would seem that the immediate danger was over. But surely before the storm had arrived they heard the screams of other trogs coming to assist, and if they didn't act fast, there was no doubt they would be attacked by those very same trogs. Worse still was that the rain was picking up; not only was it getting darker but it was getting louder as well. Within a minute the rain and thunder would get so loud, that if they wished to speak to one another outside they would need to shout. The dark clouds also brought a thick mask of rain and mist that would sever one's vision, even for those who can normally see in the dark. Their only bastion was the massive temple that laid before them; it's stones seemingly unerring even to time and weather. The doors did not seem barred nor did the windows seem broken or damaged, and only the decorative stonework appear notable damaged; everything else was still standing.

A testament of mankind's unending determination against the forces that conspire to end them, or was this place protected by the very eldritch forces that it once warred against? The answers, surely, are inside.